


Johnny Hero

by linguamortua



Series: 90 Minute Timed Writing Challenge - May 2015 [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow Is Really Nasty, Dubious Morality, Face-Fucking, HYDRA Husbands, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Oral Sex, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a toy called Johnny Hero, back when Rumlow was a kid, a bit like a GI Joe but dressed like a track athlete. He’d had one, briefly, before he grew out of that shit. Steve Rogers was like a real, live Johnny Hero and Rumlow couldn’t help but think of the slogan on the box: Bend Johnny Into Any Sports Action Position! And he did. Oh, he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Johnny Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 90 minutes from a prompt submitted to me as part of a self-imposed timed writing challenge. yvesvak prompted me thus: 'Steve is Rumlow’s new toy and all the strike team knows it because there have been others before–some of them still present. Steve doesn’t know it. Steve doesn’t know anything about modern relationships. But that’s okay: he can ask Rumlow.'
> 
> The [Johnny Hero action figure is a real thing](http://www.remembertheafl.com/images/JohnnyHeroPatriots.jpg), and can you believe that not a single person has made this connection and posted something to AO3 about it?!
> 
> You can add me [on Tumblr](http://lingua-mortua.tumblr.com/).

Captain America stood atop an abandoned silver Camaro, stance wide and shield high. In the background, a couple of small buildings smouldered and the air was grey with smoke. He gazed into middle distance at the three remaining gun placements; his chin lifted at precisely the most heroic angle caught the evening light. He looked down at the strike team.

‘Let’s finish this, men,’ he said, and leaped towards the nearest placement as the five taciturn men in black laid down covering fire behind him. When he threw his shield, he twisted from the hips like a dancer and his shoulder muscles rippled visibly under his suit. Hunkered down behind cover, Rollins leaned in to Rumlow with an unpleasant grin.

‘Cries afterwards, you say?'

‘Like a baby, Jack,’ Rumlow replied, and ejected a magazine with an abrupt jerk of his left arm.

 

*****

There was a toy called Johnny Hero, back when Rumlow was a kid, a bit like a GI Joe but dressed like a track athlete. He’d had one, briefly, before he grew out of that shit. Steve Rogers was like a real, live Johnny Hero and Rumlow couldn’t help but think of the slogan on the box: Bend Johnny Into Any Sports Action Position! And he did. Oh, he did. In particular, he liked him from behind and anywhere they shouldn’t be fucking. Like the showers at the gym, Steve pressed up against the tiles and flushed from the heat of the water and from Rumlow fingering his ass open. Or in the glass-housed elevator, a quick suck job with Steve on his knees and Rumlow leaning against the emergency stop button. Or in the tiny toilet cubicle on the jet before a mission drop, Steve desperately humiliated when Rumlow called loudly that he needed another holster for his firearm, and could Steve nip in and give him one?

 

*

 

Okay, Steve had only cried a couple of times after getting fucked. Rumlow would even, under duress, own up to the fact that the first time had probably been his fault. God damn, it made a great story for the rest of his strike team, though.

 

*

 

‘Look, Brock,’ said Steve, firmly. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong—’

‘Sure will.’

‘— but it seems tacky to go around telling people details about our intimate life.’

‘Aw, Stevie,’ Brock said, ‘What’ve people been saying to you?’

‘Well,’ Steve said with a flush, ‘you know nobody comes to me directly with these things, but I can’t help hearing whispering in the locker rooms. The strike team are especially prone to it. And my hearing is _quite_ good now, so I do pick up the gist…’

Rumlow nodded understandingly, and beckoned Steve down onto his couch. Brock’s apartment wasn’t big or lavish by anyone’s standards, but everything was comfortable and convenient. Steve sank down and leaned under Rumlow’s waiting arm and against his shoulder.

‘Things are different now,’ Rumlow explained. ‘I don’t go around telling folks, but I gotta let people know how good you are. That’s the game, see? You don’t tell everything, but it’s a compliment when people know you get me hot.’

‘There used to be a name for people who got talked about that way,’ Steve said glumly. ‘Especially the girls.’

‘You’re not a girl,’ Rumlow said, kissing him on the neck with a loud smack. ‘Even if you were, I’d still tell Jack about your fine ass. If I didn’t, he might think you were bad for me, you know? Like you bored me and I was just keeping you around for sex.’

‘I hope I’m not bad for you, Brock,’ Steve said, radiating sincerity. ‘I know things are different these days, but you always explain things for me. I guess I just have to adjust my comfort levels.’

 

*

 

Laurence Bowes was a smarmy little fucker, who ran his mouth much better than he’d ever used it on Rumlow’s cock. So when the weasel of a technical specialist sneered at Steve and asked with weak innuendo if he’d gotten _up_ to anything that weekend, Rollins was more than happy to smack him across the back of the head.

‘Show a little respect, Bowes,’ he said, making his voice hard. ‘If not for Cap, then for me.’

‘But—’ spluttered Bowes, rubbing the side of his head, ‘you always—’

‘Knock it off!’ Rollins barked. Bowes was still new enough that he didn’t get how it worked. He’d only been Rumlow’s bitch, before, and he was taking his replacement hard. Rollins couldn’t say he knew how it felt – Rumlow would pick him over anyone else in the world, he knew that – so he wasn’t inclined towards patience. Rumlow nodded over at him in thanks and he nodded back. He was looking tired today, Rollins thought idly, badly-rested and older than his years. He’d have to keep an eye on that. Running rings around Rogers in the bedroom was probably taking it out of him. Poor Rumlow had never _really_ liked topping, not the way Rollins did. But that was easy to fix.

 

*

 

Usually the best fun was to pretend to his toys that nobody knew about their liaisons. With Steve, it was even more delicious to pretend to be an honest romantic prospect. Brock Rumlow, steady boyfriend! Brock Rumlow, reciprocating blow jobs! Brock Rumlow, remembering Steve’s birthday! All the benefits of a steady lay and a warm, obliging body to bring over dinner and listen to him rant about football. All the benefits of gutter talk with the lads about how Steve Rogers will lick his own spunk off Rumlow’s fingers and beg him for his cock. No real downsides.

 

*

 

Rumlow and Rollins were having a quick smoke outside. Every so often over the past ten years, one of them had tried to quit, but the other would start them back up. Here they were, then, copping a quick cigarette and then airing out their clothes in the wind before ducking back inside.

‘When shit goes down,’ Rollins said introspectively, ‘will you take him out or should I?’

‘That’s a good question, Jack,’ said Rumlow, blowing smoke out his noise like a contemplative dragon. ‘I got nothing against him, you know. It wouldn’t be personal.’

‘Hard to make them understand though, Brock,’ Rollins cautioned. ‘Very hard, when you’re trying to kill someone and they don’t know it’s only business.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Rumlow. ‘So maybe you’d better do it for me.’

‘I know you could if you wanted to,’ said Rollins kindly.

‘Right,’ Rumlow said. ‘There was that girl of yours in Vienna, and I did for her.’

‘Magdelena,’ sighed Rollins. ‘Sweet girl. Legs for days. Real shame she walked in at the wrong time.’

‘Wasn’t weakness, Jack,’ Rumlow said earnestly, patting Rollins on the arm. ‘You got to sleep at night.’

‘When the time comes, I’ll do it clean,’ Rollins promised.

‘You always do good work. Coming over this weekend?’ Brock asked, grinding his cigarette butt out under his boot heel.

‘Don’t mind if I do, Brock,’ Rollins said. ‘Stallone movie, rare steak?’

‘Sounds good. I’ll bring the movie if you cook, buddy.’ Rumlow watched Rollins take the last couple of drags, thick fingers delicate on the cigarette.

‘Can’t stay over,’ Rollins said apologetically, ‘stuff to do, but I’ll make time to give you a roll on the couch before I head off.’ He ground out his own smoke. ‘Right, back to the salt mines, then.’

‘Life’s hard,’ chuckled Rumlow.  

 

*

 

Steve bucked underneath him, hips trying to gain traction on nothing. Above him, a knee on each side of his face, Rumlow thrust slowly into his mouth. On the long list of sexual acts that Steve Rogers would willingly engage in, getting his face fucked was pretty high up on his list of preferences. His cock was already wet and twitching, and Rumlow knew that only a supreme effort of will was keeping Steve from reaching one long arm down to bring himself off. His blue eyes fluttered closed as Rumlow thrust again with a long groan.

‘ _Yeah_ ,’ he said, lust making him unusually inarticulate. ‘Yeah, keep swallowing like that.’ He reached up to rub at his nipples; Steve’s arms were stretched above his head, loosely crossed at the wrist. Right where Rumlow had put them, right where Steve had left them when told not to move. He was so pliant, so tractable, particularly if he knew dick was on the menu. It was like a treat for Steve; Rumlow could tell by the way he worked his tongue, the way he craned his neck up if Rumlow pulled away even a bit. The way he barely needed to be touched before he was ready to go off. Rumlow’s orgasm rolled over him then, and he gave a drawn-out moan, watching himself come white and thick into Steve’s mouth. Steve whimpered and licked a little off the corner of his lip.

‘Drink it down, Johnny Hero,’ Rumlow told him with a grin, and he reached out to close Steve’s mouth for him.


End file.
